The project was in fact another one of Monica’s ideas.  She reasoned that since I had built a ‘human’ table for Shannen, one of our more recalcitrant clients, I ought to build a human chair as well.  “Or several,” she had said at the time.  “Imagine our wealthy guests pulling up chairs called Leila, Emma and Mary.”

“The day I see Mary as a human chair will be the day I do not sit down,” I had told her.

Trish and I had experimented considerably to achieve the desired effect, which was to have the ‘chair’ in a far from comfortable position when being sat upon.  We figured the backs of the thighs, when folded down against the horizontal torso would make quite a reasonable seat, with the lower legs forming the back, and this was the road we had been down.  It involved  getting a few office chairs from second hand suppliers then doing a lot of trial and error modifications to make it work.  It was the final prototype that I wheeled in to Monica’s office at eight thirty on the morning of the weekly meeting.  It had been some time since I had had an opportunity such as this, and if my plan came off it would be fun, although I would no doubt pay a price afterwards.  There had been an uneasy truce between Monica and I of late, such that I couldn’t resist a little wind-up. I felt Monica had become too involved with all the marketing she had been doing and needed bringing back to earth a bit.

My plan had begun with the early morning ‘capture’ of Shawnee.  She was now positioned in the Post Room, supervised by Trish who was on watch.  This suited me fine, for Trish was part of the plot, and having her on duty gave me an excuse to have Monica try out the device herself, rather than Trish, who was a party to its construction.  Shawnee was a diversion, as would become later apparent, and I simply wanted her out of the way.  I decided to give her a little compensation for the possibility of Monica’s wrath if things went wrong.  As a result, Shawnee was now standing astride the ‘shaft’, a device I had manufactured again with Trish’s guidance. Shawnee’s legs were spread with a short spreader bar attached to the steel upright, on the top of which was a large vibrator firmly implanted inside her.  She wore her usual about-the-house garb, that is a short pvc apron and precious little else save her collar.  Her hands were secured behind her with locked leather cuffs, and she was gagged with several strips of duct tape, but by and large things weren’t too strenuous for her, and I suspect there would shortly be a smile trying to make itself felt under the tape.  I had not told her what it was all about, since Shawnee was just a slave about the place and simply did as she was told. ‘Capture’ was the wrong word.  She had been totally cooperative all the way, looking on what was happening, I think, as one of the better perks of the job.

With Shawnee out of the way, I wheeled the chair frame into Monica’s study and announced proudly:  “This is it.”

Monica stood up from behind her desk.  She wore a short denim skirt and a white tee shirt which actually looked a size too small, not that I was complaining.  Mine was a crappy job, but somebody had to do it, and if it involved dealing with spunkily-attired women, then so be it.

She looked at the chair closely.

“Seems kind of…ugly?  Unfinished?”

“Correct.  Sort of like a car without its body shell – that’s what you’re looking at here.”  I dumped a bundle of what looked like leather seat covers of some description on her desk.  They were made of red leather and had lots of straps with quick release clips dangling from them in a haphazard way.

“Mmm, nice leather,” said Monica, holding it up to her nose and sniffing, then rubbing her fingers over it and giving me an arch look that always made me uncomfortable.  She ran her tongue over her pale glossed lips in away that sent shivers down my spine.  Damn, she was good!

“Want to see how it works?” 

“Sure.”

“You’ll have to take your clothes off.”

“You’re so romantic,” she said, her tee shirt already coming over her head.  “A real lady’s man, Steven.  ‘You’ll have to take your clothes off’,” she mimicked.  “You might as well be ordering a takeaway.  And don’t forget I have the meeting at ten.”

“You’re worse than me,” I retorted.  “Is that what you tell your customers?”

“Haha – very funny.”  Monica’s black satin knickers dropped to the floor. Her bush was dark and trimmed and her breasts I had always thought of as nicely proportioned.  That went for Monica Armstrong all over, I reckoned.  All the curves in the right places – not exaggerated or pronounced – just nicely proportioned.

“Okay, sit on the edge of the chair here,” I directed her, “now lie back.”  The chair at this stage was simply a lower-than-normal office chair with the back and upholstery removed.  I had put a thin bean bag under Monica’s body which conformed to her shape and provided full support.  Her head went back beyond the seat to rest on an extension of the seat in the form of a canvas web stretched between two steel bars.  The web reached from her neck to the top of her head, cradling it comfortably.  I helped her wriggle into just the right position. 

“Okay so far?”

“Sure.  Feels fine.”

That was the point at which I slipped the back of the chair into position and bolted up the side supports to it.  From this stage Monica would have some difficulty getting totally free, since the underside of the back came down to within an inch of her throat. And she would have had some difficulty extricating her head through the gap even with her limbs free.

“The next step is to secure your body,” I told her, pulling a wide nylon webbing strap across her, just below her navel, and another one below her breasts.  I could not help giving them a quick caress before I tightened the straps under the seat.

“Stop that,” said Monica, but she said it with a smile.

“Now comes the interesting part,” I told her, lifting both legs and pulling them up and back so that her thighs nestled against her breasts, her buttocks displayed tautly.  Another webbing strap crossed her legs just behind the knees, holding her legs in loosely in position. I did not pull the strap tight at this stage for there were a number of adjustments still to be made. 

“Still okay?” I queried.

“Sure.  Getting interesting now,” she said, and I noticed her breathing was shorter and sharper.  Whether this was merely the compression of her body or something more, I didn’t know at that stage.

“Gotta get those arms out of the way,” I said.  “Hold ‘em up.”

Monica did as she was told, and her arms aligned with each side of the back to the chair, fitting snugly against the padded edges.  There were two straps on each side.  The first pair secured the upper arms just above the elbows, while a further pair restrained the wrists at the top of the chair back.  Along side these straps were two further pairs, which I now strapped around Monica’s lower legs – one pair at the top of the calves and one at the ankles.

“Mmmm,” said Monica. “Kind of permanent…”

“It is, isn’t it,” I agreed genially. “Wriggle for me please.”  Monica did so.  In her current position, her legs were gradually spread from her buttocks to the top of the seat back, at which point her ankles were at the outside edges, almost touching her hands.  This gap between the legs was not the most comfortable on which to sit, Trish and I had decided, and we had had two stiff foam inserts cut to fit – one between the thighs and one between the calves and feet on the seat back.  I slipped these in to place and tightened the webbing straps. 

“Now you’re getting the feel of it,” I told her.  “Snug?”

“Ye-ss…”  Her voice was as tight as the straps.  “Okay – I get the picture.  You can undo me.”

“Not yet, Mon.” I was aghast. “The best bit is yet to come.  Wait till you try out these covers.  You know how much you like leather!”

“Oh all right, but don’t take too long.”

I slipped the first cover over the seat back.  It was shaped to take her feet plus the thickness of her calves and the seat back, tightening with a series of laces across the back like a corset.  Of more interest was the seat cover itself.  This slid on the front, and could be pulled back to the base of the back.  It was like a big sack, for it had to take in the seat base itself, plus the compressed body on top.  This particular section of covering was secured by quick release clips underneath, and the straps through these were easily pulled tight, melding buttocks, thighs, foam insert and seat base into one. 

Monica was starting to look flushed now, as the extra pressure came on her body.

“Wow,” she said.  “This is quite something you’ve managed. I suppose there will be a big bill for the leather?” 

“Is that a complaint?”

“No – I’m impressed, I have to say.”

“But there’s more,” I continued.  “Much more.”  I undid a zip along the leading edge of the seat itself.  This allowed a flap to be lifted back, exposing Monica’s tightly stretched cheeks. 

“What the hell…?” she demanded, as I injected a quirt of lubricant and began to work a small flexible vibrator into her pussy.

“Steven!  Don’t you dare!  Stop that immediately!”  I ignored her and continued with my task. It was a tight squeeze but the choice of weapon was appropriate and it slid home to the accompaniment of an exasperated moan from Monica.  She tried to struggle but could manage only a tiny squirm.  Then vibrator number two made its entry into her arse.

“You bastard! Take that –oh – take that out immediately!”

“Don’t hear you say that to a man very often,” I mused.

“Steven, this isn’t funny!  I have a meeting to attend!”

“Oh you’ll be there all right.  Except you’ll be the ‘chair person’.”  I laughed, for I’d only just thought of that.

“Steven – don’t you even think about it!  Don’t you dare!”

“Oh shut it, Mon. Get off your high horse just for once and join in the fun!”  I picked a medium density rubber ball out of my carry bag and held it in front of her mouth.

“No!  I won’t!” She said this through clenched teeth until I gripped her by the nose and pulled and she realised the futility of it.  “Stev –ergh! Gerk! Phhumph!”

The ball I had selected really filled her mouth and I jammed it behind her teeth, noting with satisfaction how her jaw really distended around it.  This would be a short session.  She would cope.  The ball had a quick release catch on each end of the strap.  Unlike a normal gag, this did not buckle around the neck.  Rather, the catches mated with their counterparts which were fastened to the rods supporting the webbing cradle under Monica’s head.  With each end of the strap clicked home, I pulled the straps tight, not only securing the ball in place, but leaving her unable to move her head. 

I stared at the bright blue eyes glaring at me from the horizontal position.  I was in deep shit, but I would at least enjoy myself for a short while, at Monica’s expense.  The final piece of the jigsaw was a bag-like cover for Monica’s head that was attached by velcro to the chair back after it had been slid over the jet black hair and the webbing support.  A small hole was positioned over her nose and further velcro straps made sure it would not move.

I turned both vibrators on.  They were the type that twist and rotate as well as vibrate, and I was rewarded with a moan from the chair.  Satisfied I delivered a hard smack to each buttock and zipped up the front zipper, before wheeling the chair down the hallway and on to the back verandah.

The verandah decking had small gaps between the boards and the chair  shuddered and clattered as I pushed it across to where Jillian, Leila, Emma and Mary sat at the table finishing their breakfast and perusing the paper, ahead of the weekly meeting.

“Oooo!” exclaimed Leila. “Is this the chair?  It’s gorgeous!  Just my colour, too!  Who’s in it – not Trish?”

“Trish is on duty,” I reminded her.Gromet's Selfbondage & Mummification Plaza - 
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“It must be Shawnee, then.  I wondered where she’d got to.  Can I try it out?”

“Sure,” I said.  “Just be careful – it’s still being broken in.”

Leila sat gingerly on the seat that was the back of Monica’s thighs, and slowly leant back against Monica’s calves.  There was a groan from the hooded rear of the seat.

I helped Leila adjust the height and demonstrated how the chair rocked on its stand.  She was entranced.

“It’s really nice – kind of different.  Kind of… alive.”  Then they all wanted to try it.  I waited until Mary was about to try it, before demonstrating the secret zipper.

“Nice touch,” Mary commented with an amused look.  “I wondered what had happened to that little tart Shawnee.  Never around when you need her.  And I certainly don’t consider this to be an adequate excuse.”

“What do you think might be appropriate in addressing that failing?”  I wondered aloud.

Mary sat down on the tautly stretched leather and appeared to contemplate matters.  More specifically she was contemplating the tautly stretched white cheeks of Monica, while twiddling with the two inserts.  At that point she evidently made up her mind and gave the two moons a severe spanking with her bare hands.  It wasn’t long before the skin glowed bright red and muffled squealing was coming from the red leather head-covering at the rear.

“Oh shush,”  Mary said dismissively.  Any more noise and I’ll fetch a riding crop.”

“Can I have another go?” asked Leila.

Mary vacated the chair with a parting smack and Leila knelt beside the exposed upturned cheeks.  In her hand was a black marker pen, with which she proceeded to draw and embellish a round bullseye target with several superimposed arrows, centring on the two vibrating devices, ignoring the muffled squeals of outrage from the other end.

“Don’t get any on the leather,” I warned. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.  This stuff takes ages to get off your skin, I know.” she agreed, standing back and admiring the black concentric circles on the white flesh.

Mary tried it out again, looking very much at home.  Mary and leather went together, I decided.

“Pretty neat chair, huh?”  I fished. 

“Yes, Steven.  Once again you are brilliant and we all agree the world is a better place because of you.”  This from Trish who had appeared in the doorway, a smirk on her face, and trailed by a gagged Shawnee.  “Has the meeting started yet?”

“No, we’re waiting for Mon-… oh!” said Leila, as the truth suddenly dawned on her.  “I thought you said this was Shawnee?” she whispered in a horrified tone. 

“No,” I corrected.  “You decided that.”

“So this is really…? Oh…shit…”

“Mmm,” I agreed.  “Comfortable, isn’t she, Mary?” 

“Sure is,” Mary said, nonchalant as ever, and only reluctantly getting up.  “Built for comfort, not for speed.”

“Is there any other way to go?”  I asked rhetorically, undoing the head cover.  Monica’s face matched the colour of the leather.

“I have an errand to run,” I said.  “I’ll catch up with you later.  You can fill me in.”

“I think Monica will do that,” Trish murmured to me as I made my hasty exit.

*   *   *

Monica filled me in all right.  The first thing that happened was that Trish was sent to my workshop and I was barred from it.  I heard the sound of my circular saw and drill and I admit I was worried. 

“She shouldn’t be fooling around in there,” I told Mary as we passed at lunch.  “A man’s tools are very personal. A woman shouldn’t play around with them.”

Ignoring the double entendre, Mary reminded me : “Trish won’t be fooling around – not if Monica has anything to do with it.  And Monica won’t be playing.” She looked me in the eye with a calculating gaze and a sly smile.  “If I were you, I’d be afraid – very afraid.”

“Thank you for those words of comfort, Mary.” 

“You’re welcome.”

*  *   *

I spent a couple of hours with my wrists cuffed behind me, around one of the verandah posts, courtesy of Mary and Jill doing as they were bid and me not having the will to resist them.  Nothing more than that – no gags, no inserts, nothing strenuous, just me and the sounds of Trish beavering away in my workshop.

Then the vaulting horse appeared on the varandah.  It had been surplus from a gym closure – a series of truncated boxes that stacked on top of each other to form a horse with a padded top.  It had been adapted with all manner of cleats and anchor points at various locations for ease of restraint.  I was left to consider what was ahead of me, for the Jill and Mary only brought up two sections, making the padded top barely above knee height.

As part of Monica’s strategy a leather discipline helmet was placed over my head and buckled up.  I could speak and hear but the helmet had no eyeholes, and my imagination was left to do its unfortunate work – a process which was not dissimilar from sitting in the dentist’s waiting room, listening to the drill.  Monica had not lost her touch – in more ways than one.

Predictably I wound up naked.  Equally predictably I wound up on my back on the vaulting horse.  Straps ran across my chest below my armpits, at my waist, and across my body just above Mr Willy.  My feet rested on a bar poked through one of the myriad of holes through the horse, just above floor level, while my arms were cuffed to ring bolts at the same level.  It was not the most strenuous of positions, and Jill made me more comfortable with a small cushion filled with sand, placed under my head and neck. 

I would have dozed, in the last sun of the afternoon, except that every time one of the girls happened to pass, they seemed unable to resist a little fingernail titillation of Mr Willy.  Which was nice as far as it went, except that it never actually went anywhere.

When voices became more collective, I figured the postponed meeting was about to take place, and my trepidation began to increase.  The sight of Monica finally unfolding from the chair with a big embellished target drawn on her arse in waterproof felt pen had been described in considerable detail to me by Mary, who was never one to avoid a good undermining of confidence.  She had also described Monica’s temper and the way her face continued to coordinate nicely with the red leather of the chair.  Leila had been present for these descriptions and had become visibly pale at the various punishment suggestions that might befall the perpetrators of the indignity, whether the aforementioned indignity had been done innocently or otherwise. 

My first realisation of what was about to happen was the sound of Mary and Trish’s voices and the feel of a large piece of plywood on top of me.  I found out afterwards it was about two metres by one, with a stiffener around the perimeter underneath.  More specifically, this ply, which now created a table top, had cut-outs in certain strategic locations.  One hole was positioned over my face, two over my nipples and one over the general area of Mr Willy – all big enough to get a hand through and grab anything that took your fancy.  There were two more hand-sized holes out towards the sides – about where my own hands would end up. 

The hole over my face was padded on the edges and fitted snugly against the leather of the hood down each temple and above my forehead, while having clearance below my chin.  Mary and Trish levelled the ply with a couple of thin sandbags on my thighs, before ratcheting it in position with ties of some sort on the long edges, connected to anchor points at the base of the horse.  My wrists were freed and secured to the underside of the ply with straps that were obviously screwed to the wood at elbow and wrist points.  My hands appeared to be level with the holes in the ply.  How I rued the day I had thought what a good idea it would be to start a database of measurements of all the occupants of the house (and clients).  Trish had merely had to consult this to come up with exactly the right fit for me.

“I always said we took Steven for granted,” Trish said to somebody.  “We treat him just like part of the furniture sometimes.”  This drew appropriate giggles and I made the mistake of poking out my tongue at the world, to have somebody grab it and hold on while I whined in complaint.  Obviously there was a handy box of toys nearby, for I suddenly I felt the bite of two wooden clothes pegs clamping on to my tongue, at which point the fingers let go, much to the amusement of the onlookers.

“Owh – owh –tagh theh offh!” I pleaded, sounding like I had a nasty speech impediment, which I did.  I found I could at least close my mouth and have the pegs half inside – until something happened to change that.  I found out afterwards that they had made up four small frames out of 5-millimetre wire.  The base was a circle, slightly bigger than the cut-outs in the ply.  Rising up from the base were three wires, converging on a smaller circle about a handspan above the base, so that the whole frame looked like a kind of truncated cone.  Positioning these over the holes allowed my tormentors to use the frames to secure rubber bands, attached to which were the wooden clothes pegs.  The first of these frames went over my face, and the two pegs – and my tongue - were drawn out of my mouth and secured in that position.  It hurt – but it hurt more so when I tried to pull my tongue free of the clips. 

Monica was evidently present now, for I heard her voice telling the girls to lay the table.  There was the sound of clinking cutlery and the weight on my body increased as plates were put down and serving bowls placed in the middle. 

“Haven’t we forgotten the decorations?”  Monica queried archly.  There were murmurs from the darkness followed by two sharp pains as clothes pegs bit into my nipples and then put a steady tension on them.  An object was thrust through each hand hole and my fingers made to close around what turned out to be candles.  These were lit, and there followed the noise and movements of various bodies seating themselves around me, helping themselves to the food.  This was obviously going to be a full-blown dinner meeting. 

After a short space of time, somebody requested the olive oil.  I thought nothing of it until something warm and smooth dropped through then cut-out at groin level, followed by a female hand that began to do delicious things to Mr Willy.  Despite the pain in my tongue and nipples, my buddy decided he was never one to miss an opportunity to make friends, and obediently raised himself to observe all and sundry, to the sound of delighted laughter.

“Thathh noh unny!” I spluttered as the hand continued to create wonderful sensations in my nether regions before Monica commenced the business of the meeting while the others ate. 

“Before we get into the client schedule for the coming week, there is some other business I wish to deal with.  Firstly there is the issue of this morning.  Regrettably we had to postpone this meeting due to the actions of a certain individual who shall remain nameless.  Mary – stop that.  When I want cream on my salad I’ll take it from the jar.”  The exquisite caresses that were getting Mr Willy seriously excited stopped abruptly to the muffled sniggers from around the table.

“This individual should know better than to try and put one over me, and he can see what it’s like to become an overnight table.”

“Oh!  Thath noh hair!” I protested.

“Unless it wants a dose of chilli pepper on its rebellious little tongue, I suggest the table keeps quiet,” Monica said sternly.  I could take a hint.  “I am prepared to overlook the participation of the rest of you,” she continued, “except Leila and her artwork.  You can think about that, Leila.  I propose to take no action now.  In light of what I have to announce, you may consider it a postponed sentence.  It will take place somewhere, sometime when you least expect it.  In the meantime you can think about your sins and wonder what may befall you.”  I imagined Leila quailing before a Monica stare.

“On a brighter note, you all recall that video we made?”

“Who could forget the torrid blonde love scene?” I heard Trish say, followed by her laugh as Leila obviously threw something at her.

“You may also remember a Mr Choi whom some of you met a fortnight ago when he visited here.  I met him again at Jupiter’s Casino, on a recent safari down to the Gold Coast.  Mr Choi is from Hong Kong, and he was most impressed by the video, a copy of which he has taken back with him.  I’ve had a call from him wanting to make a video in Hong Kong for the Chinese audience, with Leila and Jill as the stars.”

The rest of the meeting and dinner was pandemonium from that point.  The wine flowed and the exposed portions of my anatomy came in for considerable punishment.  The clothes pegs were removed from my tongue and I was made to hold a candle in my mouth.  Further candles were evidently positioned on the frames above my nips, for, with time, hot wax began to drip on to where the pegs gripped the flesh, prompting further – but now muffled – exclamations from me.  I found that a slight lapse in concentration let hot wax drop on to any flesh exposed within the mouth hole in the hood.

The girls finally packed up at a late hour, by which time Mr Willy had had several obscene and a lot of very nice things done to him, none of which had quite hit the high spot, however.  When Monica insisted I would be there until the end of breakfast I spat the dummy – and the candle.  It was not a particularly smart move, since she promptly replaced it with an inflatable gag, and that was the end of my contribution to snappy conversation for the evening as she gave it a squeeze or two more than was warranted.  Damn the woman, I thought.  Still, I really should have known better.  The remaining candles and pegs were removed, however, so I had this small mercy to be thankful for.

I must have dozed, until I became aware of my arms being freed from the underside of the table top before being re-fastened to the low-level anchor points.  The ratchets were undone and the weight of the table top was lifted away.  I had no idea of the time.  Surely it was not morning already? 

“Urrgh?”  I asked.  There was no reply, other than the smooth caress of long nails and soft fingertips over the whole extent of my body.  Uh-oh – here we go again, I thought as the fingers explored my nips then worked their way further south with the predictable awakening of my buddy.  Who was doing this, I wondered?  Was It Monica, playing the game to her own rules, teasing me in my blindness?  It would be just like her.

The caresses became stronger and more demanding, and I felt the weight of a female body as my tormentor climbed on top of me and slowly impaled herself on Mr Willy.  As her flesh closed around mine we both groaned in unison, and shortly we were thrusting against each other, although admittedly she was doing most of the work.  I was conscious of her breathing close to my face, of hanging breasts with their rock-hard nipples gently brushing against my own.  I felt no long hair touch my chest or throat but this could merely mean Trish or Emma or Monica had simply pinned it up. The sliding of wet, smooth thighs against my own quickened until we both lost ourselves to the moment and climaxed, me struggling against the restraints on my wrists and ankles while groaning and chewing on the gag filling my mouth, my partner gasping and panting and clearly trying not to speak or cry out in a way that would reveal her identity. 

She lay on top of me for some time, her scent heady and natural but unperfumed.  I listened to the rapid breathing slowly subside. Still I was getting no clues.  Finally she climbed off and cleaned me up, but my bonds were not released.  The gag was deflated and pulled out, then she was gone.  Bloody women and their games.

*   *  *

I awoke as Monica released me before we had to go through another performance over breakfast.  What had happened during the night was like a dream, and I wondered if it had really taken place, for you become so disoriented over time with restricted senses.  I showered and dressed and gave each inhabitant a scrutinising look as they appeared for breakfast.  I did not want to tell my story to the whole clan – I had had enough humiliation without admitting to the amazing experience I had undergone without being able to identify the perpetrator.  That would have done a lot for my credibility – not.  None of my looks brought a reaction.  The girls were obviously too taken with the events that now awaited Leila and Jillian.

*   *   *Gromet's Selfbondage & Mummification Plaza - 
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Jill and Leila obviously had been let in on the secret before the announcement, but as for the rest of us, we were pretty gob-smacked, although we were to get used to the idea over the next couple of days.

We were all delighted for the pair, naturally, but the thought of them going away for some length of time ultimately unsettled us, I guess, as being a break from our comfortable routine.  There was also an edge of friendly envy, of course, especially when it was revealed that Emma would be accompanying them, since she spoke Cantonese and had local contacts.  Not that these were needed, but it would obviously make life a little easier for Jill and Leila, neither of whom had been to Asia before. 

I have to say I was envious, for I had worked in Hong Kong for six months myself on a multi-million dollar subcontract on Kowloon Station three years previously. This was as the new Airport Railway was being completed in time for the relocation of the old Kai Tak Airport to the island of Lantau.  It had been a phrenetic time, working all the hours available and partying the rest, with the handover of Hong Kong to China thrown in the middle of everything.  In short, it was a time I would never forget, with many happy and exciting memories, the like of which I would never experience again, and the idea of going back there was attractive - except in this case I would not be doing it.

The movie was to be a B & D one, with the obvious attraction being two western blondes as an exotic drawcard for the Asian audiences.  We bade the three girls farewell only a week later, amid tears and excitement, for they were flying Cathay business class and staying on the waterfront of Hong Kong Island in the Furama Hotel, with its revolving restaurant and stunning views of the harbour.  The rest of us were so-o-o envious.  Monica was taking them to the airport in her BMW, so the rest of us said our farewells on the front steps of Bilboes.  I hugged Emma and Leila and then Jill, barely catching her words as she climbed into the car.

“Hope you liked my going-away present,” she whispered.

*   *   *

Three days later everything turned pear-shaped.  I was with Monica in her study at the time when her mobile rang.  It was Emma.  I watched Monica as her face suddenly went white and she turned to me.

“It’s Jill and Leila – they’ve disappeared!”